


Poison Within Your Head

by hannigramcracker



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, I got a little carried away here, M/M, Vomiting, hi it's been months so have some vomit I guess, puke without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker
Summary: Slade gets struck down by a migraine, but thankfully he has Dick waiting at home to help him through it.





	Poison Within Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> It's been like at least sixteen years since I've posted, and this has been in the works for a while. I finally resurrected it from the fic graveyard that is my google drive. So yeah, here have some vomit pals.

Slade clambered back into the apartment window. His entry was clumsy, much less grace than usual. He hadn't even been out for three hours, but he needed to cut tonight short and he'd known it since the moment he stepped out in the first place. 

 

Sometimes, this happened to him. Sometimes pain would blossom and bloom behind his eye that wasn't there. Sometimes it would go away in a while with the help of a handful of painkillers and a shot of whiskey. But sometimes, the pain held on. 

 

Sometimes it continued to grow until every cell in his head throbbed, until he swore he could feel the blood pulsing in his brain, until he was sure his head would explode before the pain abated. It became something tangible, at times he could almost taste it, metallic and too hot in his throat. It would swirl behind his eyes, distorting his perception of the things around him until he was dizzy enough that he feared he would crash to the ground with little notice. 

 

Sometimes, Slade suffered migraines, and tonight was one of those times. 

 

He had thought he could work through the pain, thought he could breathe deeply enough to make it dissipate, thought he could get through patrol and come home to sleep it off. But he had been wrong, and he hated it. Something as simple as a headache could take down Deathstroke the Terminator and he loathed himself for it. 

 

Immediately, Dick’s words echoed in his head as he clattered to the floor, swords and bits of armor coming loose.  _ They're not  _ just  _ headaches,  _ Dick had mumbled to him late into the night after his last bad episode,  _ migraines are serious. Tim used to get them and he'd be down for days at a time.  _

_ Are you okay? Slade? Baby? Slade!  _

 

Slade reached up to rub his eyes hoping to clear the aura that had settled, but he found his mask in the way. Gentle hands settled on his chest and Slade forced himself to focus long enough to find out whose they were. They felt like Dick’s...but he was on patrol and Dick had taken the evening off. 

 

Slade opened his eye and barely held back a groan. The dim light in the bedroom was too much.

 

Wait. 

 

Bedroom? 

 

And it was Dick in front of him, peering worriedly at him. 

 

Wasn't he just on a rooftop somewhere? 

 

Fuck, add disorientation to the ever growing list of symptoms. 

 

“Dick?” Slade heard himself rasp, his voice small and quiet but still grating to his sensitive ears. His jaw was clenched so hard against the pain that he was sure his teeth would splinter and crack. 

 

Dick breathed a sigh of relief, barely audible. “Baby, what happened?” Dick reached forward to peel up Slade’s mask and Slade hissed as the last barrier between him and the light was taken from him. 

 

“Nothing. Head fuckin’ hurts.” Slade’s voice was a pit of gravel. Possibly the same pit that his head had been dragged through. 

 

“Oh. Sweetheart.” Dick breathed, immediately quieting his tone. He pressed a kiss, feather light, to Slade’s temple and rose to turn the light in the room off completely. Hyper aware of noises, he heard Dick snatch something up off of the bedside table. 

 

Dick was back in front of him in no time, hands light on his shoulders. He rubbed down his arms, gently pulling away his gauntlets and gloves. Slade felt him press something cool and slightly rough into one of his hands once they were free. 

 

“Amethyst.” Dick whispered, close enough that Slade could feel his breath on his temple. “It'll help with your head.” 

 

Slade grunted in response, trying his best to bite back a whimper and failing miserably. He clutched to Dick, burying his face into the hollow of his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent - lavender and something smoky. “I'm sorry,” he breathed. 

 

“Baby, hush.” Dick soothed, running his hand down Slade’s back. “Let's get you out of uniform and into bed. Then I'll get you your meds and maybe some tea if you can stomach it.” 

 

Slade nodded against Dick. He wasn't sure about the tea, his stomach had been rolling ever since he fell into the window, but bed sounded like exactly where he wanted to be. 

 

He felt helpless as Dick stripped him down to his boxers, but the weight of his armor leaving his body was a blessing. He hated that his fingers felt numb and shaky when he tried to undo the clasps along his chest and Dick had to softly grip his wrists and move his hands away. Slade tried to focus on the feeling of the amethyst in his hands, smoothed and pointed on one end, rough and jagged on the other, and the sensation of Dick’s gentle touch. He tried to block out the pain, to breathe around and past it, but it was blurring the edges of everything, watering it down and wiping it away. The pain was white heat and Slade wanted nothing more than the respite of cool darkness. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear worm it's way down his cheek. He wanted to wipe it away before Dick saw, but his hands weren't listening. His neck felt like he had been stabbed and his lips felt fuzzy and disconnected from the rest of his face no matter how hard he bit at them to bring the feeling back. 

 

“ _ Sweetheart _ .” Dick murmured again, reaching up to wipe the tear and keeping his hand cupped against his cheek. Slade opened his eye and saw the fuzzy outline of Dick in front of him, the two of them surrounded by the remnants of his uniform haphazardly piled around them. 

 

“It's bad.” Slade ground out. 

 

Dick sighed and ran his hands through the strands of hair that lay across Slade’s forehead. The feeling was heavenly. Slade leaned into the touch, cracking his eye open slightly. “Let’s get you into bed.” Dick offered, his voice nothing more than the ghost of a breath. 

 

“Okay. Yeah.” Slade hoped his voice didn't sound as disconnected as it felt. He winced as Dick helped him stand, holding back a gag as his equilibrium shifted. He wanted to lie down. Now. Before he vomited on their bedroom floor. Slade swallowed harshly as Dick gently settled him into the bed. 

 

“Are you okay? You're pale.” 

 

Slade nodded, fearing that if he opened his mouth more than words would spill forth. He pressed a hand into the top of his stomach, just below his ribs and hoped the pressure would calm it. Dick helped him gently onto their soft bed and Slade sat for a moment, legs hanging over the side and head cradled in his hands. Dick rubbed up his back and Slade groaned. He felt Dick’s hand on his shoulder, softly guiding him into the pile of pillows situated at the head of their bed. Slade sighed as his body nestled into the softness. Usually he made fun of Dick for all his pillows, but today he was thankful for them. 

 

Dick kissed him softly on a temple. “I'll be right back, baby.” And he was gone. 

 

Slade scrunched his eye closed and tried to relax the tension in his jaw. He knew gritting his teeth would only worsen the pain in the long run but it was his body’s natural response to the sharp throbbing in his head. He had felt better lying down at first, reveling in the cool darkness, but now patterns began to swirl and swell behind his eyes nauseatingly. Slade felt disconnected from his body, like his limbs were floating and spinning and he was somewhere far above them, looking down in sympathy. 

 

A belch wormed its way up his throat and he moaned. It stung. He rubbed his chest and throat in its wake and prayed there wouldn't be more to follow, even though he knew from past experience how unlikely that was. The pain was bright ember exploding into flame, like a match lit and crackling to fire behind his eyes, burning itself out and further burrowing into his skull, leaving behind the glowing remains to smolder and sear. Roughly, Slade groaned from between clenched teeth, pressed together hard enough that a spark of pain traveled across his jaw. He willed his stomach to stay put at the same moment another burp forced its way out. Even though his eyes were closed, Slade could tell tunnel vision was beginning to set in. He saw colors moving throughout the darkness, bright bursts of pain, and barely suppressed a gag. He wished Dick would come back to help him - as much as he didn’t want to vomit, he knew it was coming, and he would much rather vomit into something than on himself and their bed. 

 

His fingertips and elbows began to tingle and he flexed his hands, trying to bring feeling back into them, but it did no good. Dick was still nowhere to be found and Sade’s mouth was beginning to water. Saliva collected beneath his tongue faster than he could swallow it back. His stomach heaved again and something sour splashed the back of his throat. Somehow, Slade threw himself into a sitting position and cringed when his feet crashed against the floor beside the bed. He stumbled to the bathroom as quickly as he could, but his steps were short and stuttering. He was sure he had walked across the room with more grace the last time he had been blackout drunk. 

 

He tried not to think about being drunk right now. 

 

Barely missing the doorframe, Slade found himself standing in the bathroom, leaning heavily against the sink, panting and sweating like he had just fought off an army. His head pounded in time with his shallow breaths, and god, he just wanted this to end. Every nerve ending on his body was crackling with pain and stimulation and he was afraid his head was going to burst open, letting his brain uncoil and slip through the cracks in his skull. 

 

The mental image had him gagging again, deeply, bending over the sink and letting the sounds echo in the basin of it. His stomach was in turmoil, but nothing was coming up beside the sour taste of bile sticking to the back of his throat. Drool hung from the corners of his mouth and he spat forcefully to rid himself of them, only for more to leak out with the next belch that escaped. Slade tried to catch his breath before another gag caught him off guard, ending in an empty moan. This was hell. This was truly hell. He just wanted it to end, he actually  _ wanted  _ to vomit, wanted to purge himself from the inside out so he could find some relief. 

 

Another gag, nothing but a mouthful of spit, and Slade felt a hand on his back, nearly jumping out of his skin. He looked up and saw Dick reflected in the mirror behind his own ashen face. He exhaled, leaning more of his weight against the sides of the sink, nearly toppling the hand soap in. 

 

“Baby, take a breath. Have you been sick?” Dick whispered in Slade’s ear. To Slade, his voice sounded like the coolest and softest sheets. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into them. He couldn’t do much more than shake his head in response, immediately regretting the action and screwing his eyes shut against another unproductive gag. “Okay.” Dick answered. “Okay. Let me help you, let’s get down on the floor okay? You’re wasting energy standing up like this. Don’t worry, I’m here.” 

  
Slade nodded and let Dick guide him to the floor. He all but crashed to his knees and leaned back against Dick’s torso, letting the other man support him entirely. Slade barely acknowledged Dick leaning forward and propping up the toilet lid. He moaned quietly, turning his face as close to Dick as he could manage. He knew what was coming, and as much as he knew it would bring relief, reprieve, he also knew that it would be misery as it happened. 

 

“I know, bear, I know.” Dick cooed above him. Slade felt the smallest he had ever felt in his life, sitting here in shambles in Dick’s arms. He knew if it were anyone else with him, he would be ordering them to leave the room and leave him in his misery. But he could never find it in himself to ask Dick to leave, not when his presence alone brought comfort. 

 

Slade was brought from his thoughts once again by an unproductive gag. He leaned forward to spit emptily into the toilet. Dick rubbed his back and stroked his hair into a messy ponytail using an elastic he got from god knows where. Slade imagined he had been wearing it around his wrist, just in case. Slade had no time to marvel at the frequency of the disjointed thoughts echoing around his head before another burp trembled up his throat. It stung, painful and sour, but was again empty. It brought another agonizing gag, trailed by a sob that Slade couldn’t stifle. 

 

“ _ Baby.”  _ Dick’s voice was above him, Slade leaning forward and focusing on spitting the thick saliva pooling under his tongue and sticking to his lips into the toilet. 

 

“Fuckin’ hurts.” Slade gasped out, feeling that these were the only words that were capable of leaving his mouth that evening. 

 

“Your head or your stomach?” Dick asked, voice soft, hands playing against his back. 

 

“Both.” Slade growled out, teeth gritting against a cramp in his stomach. He could almost feel the stomach acid crawling up his throat, but no matter how deep the gag it still came up empty. He gagged yet again, as if to prove it. 

 

Slade could almost feel Dick cringing behind him. All he wanted was for this to be over so he could sleep this off, and spend tomorrow trying to figure out what higher power he had pissed off enough to feel this way. 

 

“Slade. Do you trust me?” Dick asked, his voice sounding apprehensive yet resolute. 

 

Slade nodded, the pain in his head suddenly hitting a peak and he couldn’t seem to locate his voicebox. The question confused him, of course he trusted Dick, but he wasn’t able to follow any sort of train of thought at the moment. All he seemed able to do was stare into the stagnant toilet water that seemed to mock him with every passing moment.

 

Dick took a deep breath behind him and whispered into his ear. “Okay, baby. Just try to stay relaxed. And trust me. I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

 

Slade felt Dick shift and lay one hand on his shoulder. Slowly, Dick reached around Slade and rubbed his fingers up the stubble gathered under Slade’s chin. Slade leaned into the touch, gaining comfort from nearly anything at this point, especially the closeness of Dick. Dick’s hand steadily moved up to caress his lips, and Slade thought that if he wasn’t feeling so terrible this action would be almost sensual. 

 

“Just keep breathing, Slade.” Dick instructed him and as soon as Slade opened his mouth to comply, Dick slid two slender fingers between his lips and into the hot cavern of his mouth. 

 

Slade’s eye widened, the pain in his head intensified yet again and his stomach flipped all in what felt like one millisecond. In the next, Dick’s fingers found the back of Slade’s mouth, wet with ropy saliva, and pressed down against the back of Slade’s tongue. Slade coughed and instinctively grabbed at Dick’s wrist with one hand. 

 

“I know, I know.” Dick whispered. “I’m sorry baby.” 

 

Dick pressed his fingers back once again, this time dipping into the top of Slade’s throat. Slade gagged, twice in quick succession, and successfully brought up barely a mouthful of bile. But it was progress. Slade leaned forward, still clutching at Dick’s wrist, trying to position himself over the toilet, but everything he brought up coated Dick’s palm and not much more. Dick’s fingers surged forward once more, and Slade helped pushed them back this time. Another gag was forced forth, rocking Slade’s whole body forward. More stomach acid, acrid and sour, dripped down to Dick’s elbow now. 

 

Slade coughed, hacked, spitting thick darkly colored spit into the toilet. Yet another gag trembled up his throat, loud and wracking but tragically empty. Slade could feel the bile and stomach acid and lord knows  _ what  _ else he had eaten in the past day gathering somewhere between his stomach and throat. 

 

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Slade grunted, lucidity striking him full force for only a moment. He realized what this must look like, he and Dick in a tangle before the toilet, Dick’s fingers and hand coated thinly with vomit that he only wished his body would continue bringing up. He sat, panting for a moment, before something thick shifted in his stomach. Slade swore he could feel it slithering up his throat, ropy and disgusting, and  _ god  _ he just wanted it  _ out.  _

 

“Once more.” Slade breathed, his voice ragged, like boots dragging in gravel. More saliva dripped from his open mouth as he hung over the tauntingly empty basin. 

 

Dick wasted no time complying, sliding his still slick fingers over Slade’s tongue once more. Dick’s slender middle finger reached forward into the back of the opening of Slade’s throat and that was blissfully enough. Slade heaved forward almost violently, thankful that the floodgates had finally been broken. 

 

With a loud gag, the first full wave of vomit splashed into the toilet. The mouthful was watery, foamy, somehow both yellow and brown. Slade tried not to look at it as another rush surged forth, squeezing his eye shut. Slade didn’t hear Dick reach out and rip a few squares of toilet tissue off the roll, no doubt wiping his fingers clean. He was too busy replacing the moment’s relief he had felt when he began vomiting with distress as the previously liquid was replaced with something much thicker. 

 

Instead of the vomit falling from his lips, he now had to active push the thick slurry from his mouth, gorge rising every time a chunk clung to the back of his teeth or the underside of his tongue. The noise of his next gag was muffled by the sheer volume and density of the gush of vomit. The feeling of previously chewed but still undigested food clogging his throat and surging into his mouth made his heart pound and his skin feel clammy. Slade could hear himself panting, could feel Dick rubbing his back, as though he were outside of his own body. 

 

“You’re okay baby.” Dick whispered into his fever-hot skin. “Just get it all up.” 

 

Dick reached forward and flushed the toilet, the sound echoing emptily in Slade’s head. Tears leaked from Slade’s eye from exertion alone and the blurry sight of the discolored and thick liquid elicited another gag from deep within Slade’s stomach. A burp rumbled up following, mercifully empty. Tentatively, Slade sat back on his heels, his knees aching, and took a few cautious experimental breaths. Dick was still sitting vigilantly behind him, rubbing gently at his shoulders and letting silence fill the room. 

 

“Do you think you’re all done?” Dick asked softly, and it was like his words cursed the situation. Slade had been feeling better for a moment, like maybe he had regained control of his stomach and head, but in that instant he leaned forward once more, heaving so harshly that his knees crashed back to the floor and his body raised up off his thighs. 

 

Slade reached out, bracing himself against the tank of the toilet, vomit once again splashing so harshly into the bowl, the toilet water spat back up at him. One more gag brought up less stomach contents and more acid and bile, telling Slade that the end was in sight. Another belch rumbled in his chest, but mercifully nothing more came up. 

 

Slade sat panting, not moving and bracing himself still against the back of the toilet, staring down at the flecks of vomit that the first flush did not wash away. He spat a few more times, and gratefully accepted the small cup of water that Dick had somehow known to provide him. He rinsed his mouth, spitting the foul tasting tepid water into the toilet to mingle with the sick still left there. 

All his energy left Slade in a rush, and sagged back against Dick with a forlorn moan, completely sapped. All he wanted now was to sleep, which Dick graciously helped provide. 

 

When Slade awoke the next morning, or was it afternoon?, he found he couldn’t exactly recall getting to bed, but he was perfectly pleased with the sight of Dick curled around him from behind. A mixing bowl sat on their bedside table, thankfully empty and spotless.  


End file.
